Past
by PugNTurtle
Summary: "You were there for me when I woke up in that hospital bed." What was Joan talking about in 2x08, Welcome to the Occupation?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Past

Author: Katie

Rating: R (violence)

Characters: Joan Campbell, Arthur Campbell, Annie Walker, Meg Wilkins

Pairings: Joan/Arthur

Summary: "You were there for me when I woke up in that hospital bed." What was Joan talking about when she said that to Meg in 2x08, Welcome to the Occupation.

Disclaimer: The characters in Covert Affairs do not belong to me. They belong to a bunch of people who probably have more money than I ever will. I'm just borrowing them.

Author's Note: Hi all! This is my first CA fanfiction. I recently discovered the show and spent the summer watching all the episodes. It's such an awesome show. I adore Joan and Arthur, and really can't wait for Season 5 to see what happens. Please let me know what you think. I love feedback! This will be 6-7 chapters, and please be forewarned that future parts will be pretty dark and violent.

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If there was one thing that Annie Walker had learned about this job, it was to never assume anything.

For example, she never assumed she would go on a mission with Joan Campbell. In the short time that she had been at Langley, Joan had always worked behind the scenes controlling operations. Of course, she had heard that Joan had been an incredible agent in the field, but Annie never thought that she would experience working with her.

Now, as they clinked wineglasses together across the small table of the plane, Annie sat somewhat unsure of what to say or do. She took a sip of wine, trying not to think of the fact that the bottle probably cost a third of her paycheck. It tasted amazing, but it did little to calm her nerves.

The mission was complete, but it was obvious that Joan had not escaped unscathed.

Annie glanced at Joan underneath long lashes. Her glance lingered as the younger woman looked at her boss curiously. Annie noticed Joan carefully flexed her hand, testing the pain level of the action. Annie took in the bruise under Joan's right eye, knowing that it would turn into a spectacular black eye by morning. Annie could also see finger marks against Joan's long neck, and from the ginger way the older woman sat, Annie assumed there were some bruised ribs. She frowned slightly, feeling guilty for leaving Joan and Meg to fight off numerous assassins.

Noticing Annie staring, Joan attempted to keep a passive look on her face. "What?" she asked Annie, though her tone held no annoyance.

The agent blushed lightly, embarrassed at getting caught looking at her boss. "I…sorry," Annie muttered, taking a longer sip of wine to fill the awkward silence. Seeing that Joan was waiting for her to continue, Annie sighed. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "You just…are you okay?"

Joan raised an eyebrow, and Annie could have sworn that she saw a hint of a smile on the blonde woman's face. Still, Joan managed to answer neutrally, "I'll live. I held my own, and I've had worse than this, believe it or not."

Remembering Joan's statement to Meg in the bathroom, Annie couldn't help the curious question that followed. "Joan...what happened?"

Joan glanced at her, thoroughly confused. "With…?" she trailed off, waiting for Annie to answer.

Annie flushed again, wondering what it was about Joan that made her feel so tense. "What you said to Meg. About her being there when you woke up in the hospital," Annie replied.

Annie instantly regretted the statement. Joan's eyes darkened and a look of…Annie wasn't sure what exactly, passed over her face. It was a mixture of several emotions. She looked angry, hurt, fearful, ashamed, and sad.

An awkward silence lingered in the cramped cabin, and finally Annie spoke up. "I'm sorry, Joan," she said. "It's none of my business." She moved to stand, freezing when Joan spoke a single word.

"Wait."

The word was choked, and Annie was shocked to see tears welling in Joan's eyes. She sat still, waiting as Joan desperately attempted to get ahold of her emotions.

"I just…it's not something I talk about," Joan finally spoke. "It was a very dark time in my life, and…to think back on it is hard."

"I'm sorry," Annie repeated for the fourth time in less than five minutes. She regretted bringing up the subject. "I don't want to stir up bad memories."

"It's okay," Joan answered softly. "It was twelve years ago. Arthur had just proposed to me, and at the risk of sounding arrogant, I was on the top of my game. I had just had my ten year anniversary with the agency and was on my way up the ranks." Joan smiled sadly then added, "I was pretty much on top of the world."

Annie waited, allowing Joan to continue at her own pace. Finally, she continued.

"I thought that I was invincible. I thought that nothing bad would happen to me. Meg and I, as well as another agent, Lena Smith…we were pretty amazing agents. They called us 'Tres Culo Patadas Mujeres'." Annie chuckled at the nickname. "We took down a record number of subjects, including a large terror group. The three of us versus fifteen men. That was quite an interesting encounter."

Joan sighed slightly. "The three of us went to Switzerland to eliminate two members of a terrorist cell that was quickly escalating. Meg and I were working the field, and Lena was our eyes and ears. She wasn't too happy about that, and voiced her frustrations all the way from DC to Switzerland. By the time we landed, Meg and I were at our wit's ends."

"It didn't take us long to get the Intel we needed," Joan went on. "Meg and I were driving through a heavily wooded area. The weather was clear, and we were actually having a good time. Laughing, joking…it was almost as if we weren't covert operatives getting ready to kick some ass."

Annie smiled at Joan's laugh.

"One minute we were fine, the next, we were hit by another car." Joan closed her eyes for a moment, taking time to gather her thoughts. "We never could prove it, but Meg and I swore that Lena set us up. After all, we were ambushed when she wasn't with us. It was just too…convenient."

"Were you injured?" Annie asked, realizing that Joan hadn't elaborated.

"It's a long story," Joan responded with a sigh. Looking out the window, seeing the plains of Texas under them, she finished, "But it's also a long flight." Seeing the innocence in Annie's eyes, Joan continued. "I've never told anyone outside of Arthur and my therapist this story…and of course Meg. I trust you to keep it between us."

"Of course, Joan," Annie replied automatically.

Joan nodded, placing her trust in the young agent. She settled back, gathering her thoughts.

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End Part 1. Part 2 will be up tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to those of you who read/reviewed/followed. I really appreciate it. As a writer, feedback is the best gift you can get.

Enjoy part 2. It's going to start getting violent herein.

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_Twelve Years Earlier_

_Männedorf__, __Switzerland_

"She really is annoying."

"Meg…"

"Oh, come on, Joanie. You know I'm right," Meg Wilkins answered her friend, rolling her eyes playfully. "I know we aren't in high school, but I feel like it whenever I am within three feet of that woman. I mean a makeover? Is she fucking serious?"

Joan snorted, the sound not one that usually came out of her. As unladylike as it sounded, it surprisingly didn't bother the normally stiff woman. "Well, Meg, you are a bit of a tomboy. It wouldn't kill you to put on a little lipstick. Or even some Chapstick," Joan commented.

"Hush it, Joanie."

Joan glanced at her friend briefly before bringing her eyes back to the road. "You do realize that you are the only person who gets away with calling me that? Not even Arthur could call me Joanie," she told her friend.

"That's because he calls you something else," Meg replied sweetly with a smile, "In bed."

Joan's eyes widened slightly, and she couldn't help but sputter out her friend's name. "Meg!" Her fingers gripped the wheel tightly to keep the car steady.

The other agent laughed heartily at Joan's reaction. Even throughout the farm, Joan was somewhat of a prude, and an absolute perfectionist. Meg loved poking fun at her friend, especially when she knew the blonde would get flustered. Joan may have been a calm and level headed agent in the face of danger, but when it came to her personal life she suddenly became unsure and awkward.

"So back to Lena…" Joan changed the subject. As much as she cared for Meg, her sex life wasn't something that she wanted on display. Still, she couldn't help but happily touch the ring on her finger that had sat there for months now.

"Do we have to go there?" Meg whined slightly. "I know I'm the one who brought her up in the first place, but still…she annoys me!"

Joan glanced at Meg with a smirk on her face. As she was turning her head back to the road, the world exploded. There was a loud bang, and Joan felt the car sliding when she was unable to control the car.

It took Joan several moments to realize that their car had been slammed into. Glass sprinkled her sweater, lap, everywhere that her bleary eyes could see. The back of the car was pinned against a large tree. The car that had hit them was perpendicular to theirs, the front end crushed against her door. Glancing over, she could see two men in the other car, both looking dazed from the harsh sudden impact. Joan felt her heart leap into her throat. A sense of urgency came over her as she recognized the men behind the obviously intentional accident.

Both matched the description of the men she, Lena, and Meg had been sent to eliminate.

Grimacing, Joan looked at Meg. Her partner looked stunned, with a small trail of blood trickling down her temple from where she had hit the window. Otherwise, she seemed uninjured.

"Meg," Joan managed to whisper. She cringed as she reached to unbuckle her seatbelt. There was no doubt in her mind that her left arm was broken from the impact. A sharp throb had instantly settled deep in her arm and wrist. Gritting her teeth, she released the seatbelt, twisting slightly. The pull in her ribs protested the action, but she still managed to turn, glass sprinkling off of her with every movement.

"Meg," she repeated as she shook her friend. "We gotta move."

Meg seemed to snap out of her stupor. "Joanie," she whispered. "What-"

"Move!" Joan harshly ordered, reaching across the console to unbuckle Meg's seatbelt for her. "My door is blocked. We have to go out yours."

With shaking hands, Meg opened her door, pushing the seatbelt away and stumbling out of the car. Joan resisted crying out as she followed, gritting her teeth as every movement sent pain through her chest and arm. Finally, her feet touched the earth and she felt Meg's hand wrap around her arm when she stumbled.

"Don't," Joan managed, swatting away Meg's hand. "My arm is broken."

Meg nodded, dropping her hand instantly. She gestured toward the wooded area. "Let's go, Joanie."

Together, the women took off into the woods. It didn't take long for Meg to pull ahead of her injured comrade. Joan instantly regretted taking off her coat in the car, as the cold stung her instantly through her thin sweater. Still, Joan pushed forward for several hundred yards before she finally stopped.

"Meg," she gasped, wincing at the pain in her chest. Her partner stopped, turning at Joan's pained call. Joan cradled her left arm close to her body. "Meg, we have to separate."

"What? No!" Meg replied with a shake of her head.

Joan struggled to take a deep breath, using her uninjured arm to grab Meg's shoulder. Her fingers wrapped around the other woman's light jacket urgently. "Meg, you know we have to. If they aren't following us, they soon will be. We stand a better chance at survival if we are apart. And besides," she added, nodding to her useless arm, "I'm holding you back." 

"Joanie, I'm not going to-" Meg began, then instantly stopped. The blue in Joan's eyes had turned icy, indicating that the woman was getting mad at her arguments. "Okay," Meg finally relented. "I don't like this, though."

"Go back to the safe house, and I will meet you there. We will catch up with Lena, and get out of here," Joan said.

"Okay," Meg said again, pulling Joan into a quick hug. "Be careful, Joanie," she added.

"You too, Meg," Joan replied, pressing her forehead to her friend's briefly before pulling away. "I'll see you soon."

They took off in separate directions, the blonde woman knowing that it was the best choice. Still, as she heard the men from the car shouting, a chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Joan Mackenzie had never felt so vulnerable before. She was a sitting duck, and it was only a matter of time before the men caught up to her. It hurt to walk, let alone run. She glanced upwards. Joan thought about climbing a tree, but she doubted that she could with her injuries. The branches were high as it was, so pulling herself up presented itself as a major obstacle. Her thoughts briefly drifted to Arthur, knowing that if she was caught, the chances of seeing him again were very slim.

That was enough to get Joan moving, ignoring the pain that was racking her body. Hearing the men come closer, she began a slow jog, glancing over her shoulder every few yards to make sure she wasn't being followed.

After the fifth glance, Joan turned her head forward, slowing down. She had to stop for a moment. Leaning against a strong tree, Joan attempted to slow her breathing. Running coupled with the cold was doing nothing to help her ribs.

Joan rested for several moments, finally feeling like she had her breath. She pushed off of the tree, only to see a gun in her face.

Joan froze, but training instantly kicked in instinctively. She spread her hands out, feigning confusion. "Please don't hurt me," she whispered, pretending to be shocked at the gun in her face. Ignoring the pain in her ribs, she laughed nervously. "I don't-"

"Shut up," the taller man said in broken English, roughly pushing the gun against her shoulder. Joan stepped back, bumping into the tree. The shorter man moved closer, cornering Joan. She fought the rising panic at being trapped. She had fought off as many as three men at once before, but that was uninjured and with backup. "Where is your friend?" the man asked.

"My friend?" Joan asked innocently. She glanced between the two men.

The response was a quick whip of the pistol across Joan's face. She hit the ground hard. Joan was unable to keep the cry surpressed as her injured arm and ribs were jarred. Blood immediately filled her mouth, the coppery taste nearly making her gag.

A hand wrapped around her golden locks, lifting Joan slightly. The blonde desperately attempted to brace herself against the ground, trying to relieve some of the pressure on her neck. "Where is your friend?" the man repeated, pushing her back against the ground after kicking her hand away. The frozen earth scraped her cheek, the man's hand keeping her down.

Joan cringed, bringing up her right hand to try to pry the fingers from her head as he yanked her to her feet. "Please, I don't know what you are talking about! I'm just a hiker!"

The man drew back his fist. Joan barely had time to prepare for the fist to connect with her cheek. Stars instantly threatened her vision.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," the man said lowly. "I know you are CIA, and I know you were sent with another operative to eliminate us." Joan set her gaze, attempting to appear confused. "So where is your friend?"

_Arthur, I'm sorry,_ Joan thought. _I love you._

She remained silent, seeing the man's eyes darken. He lifted his fist again, and Joan's world instantly went black.

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Please review and let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you MrMsMingus for the review. I don't know if it is just my computer/iPhone, but I'm not seeing this in the CA section. Please spread the word to your fellow Joan fans to check out the fic. I'd appreciate it.

Lots of violence and uncomfortable material are in this part. If that sort of stuff freaks you out, you may not want to continue.

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_Twelve Years Earlier_

_Location Unknown_

When Joan came to, she kept her eyes closed. Her arms were stretched above her head, thick rope bounding them together. Her feet barely touched the ground, the pull on her broken arm and ribs were borderline intolerable. She fought back a moan, her head throbbing. She could feel dried blood at the corner of her lip.

"I know you are awake," a voice whispered in her ear, pushing her slightly. Joan slowly forced her eyes open, meeting the gaze of one of the most dangerous men the CIA had ever pursued. They had only been looking into his terrorist activities for about a month. He was so new that Joan didn't even know his name. That was part of the reason why she and her partners were in Switzerland in the first place.

Joan remained silent, blue eyes meeting brown for several long moments. Her eyes flickered upwards, seeing her wrists were tied around a metal meat hook. Blood slowly trickled down her arms as the ropes cut into her skin. She attempted to wiggle her fingers, but the binding was so tight that she was barely able to.

Joan looked around, seeing that she was being held in a dark room. The air was musty, the walls damp. A single light cast eerie shadows across the floors. There were no windows that she could see. Joan was willing to bet that behind her was only a door.

The man held a crowbar, running it through his fingers. Joan warily looked at the black metal before looking at the man again. "You know," he began, "Of all the people I've tortured information out of, I've never tortured a woman."

Joan swallowed slightly, fighting the reply that threatened to come out of her lips. She glanced at the dirty tray that held different instruments, such as knives, bats, a Taser, lighters, and a gun. There was dried blood on the ends of many of the objects. She flicked her blue eyes back to the man, trying to hide the nervousness that she knew was settled there.

"I wonder…" he continued, "How long it will take you to break. Are you strong, or will you crumble at the first strike? What will it take for you to tell me what I want to know?"

Joan remained silent, setting her gaze. There was no way that she would give up information, ever. It put too many others in danger. Meg…Lena…_Arthur. _

"We can do this the hard way, or the easy way. I already know who you are, Joan Mackenzie. I know that you were sent here by the CIA to eliminate my men with the hopes of drawing me out of hiding. I know your partners are Megan Wilkins and Lena Smith," he said slowly. Joan's face remained impassive, neither confirming nor denying his claims.

"So, I only have a few questions that I need answers to," the man continued, running the edge of the crowbar down Joan's cheek. She involuntarily flinched as the cool metal touched what was undeniably a bruise against her fair skin. The man grinned at her, delighted at her impulsive reaction. "You will try, but I always get the answers I want." He ran the crowbar down her neck, settling it against the hollow of her throat. "Always."

Joan spoke for the first time, her voice gravelly. "I won't talk," she told him, bracing herself for the blow that she knew would come. "There's nothing that you can do to me that will make me talk."

Her statement was rewarded with a short laugh. Anger rose in Joan at his reaction. Violence she expected, but for him to be amused sent fire through her veins. If she could get loose, she would teach him something about fighting. Joan gritted her teeth, looking upwards. She briefly wondered if there was any way to get out of her bonds.

The man chuckled, finally speaking again. "You know, the longest that anyone ever lasted with me was six hours. He struggled to hang in there, but finally he told me what I needed to know," he said.

Without warning, the man swung the crowbar down, slamming it into the side of Joan's left knee. Her eyes widened in shock, and she cried out before she could stop the sound from coming out of her throat. The blow was unexpected and painful.

The man grinned wickedly, slamming the crowbar into her kneecap repeatedly. Joan bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. She fought the urge to scream, knowing that is what the man wanted.

Finally, he stopped, leaving Joan breathless. He raised an eyebrow, seeing her struggle to fight the pain. "You may be harder to crack than I thought," the man said, fingering the crowbar again before setting it down on the tray and turning back towards Joan. "I want you to think very carefully. Is this information worth your life? Is the CIA willing to fight for your life?"

Joan stared back at him, refusing to answer. The man chuckled, turning away. Joan thought that he was leaving, but he turned suddenly, drawing a fist back and slamming it into her ribcage. She groaned, swaying slightly from the impact.

She bit her lip and resisted the urge to let out a choked sob. She watched the man smirk before turning back and walking out of the room.

Joan cringed, finally allowing her guard to drop. A tear fell from her eye, and she instantly felt annoyed that she couldn't wipe away the salty liquid. It traveled down her cheek, settling against her dry lips. She struggled to breath, the panic and pain overtaking her mind.

_Come on, Joan, think!_ She ordered herself. Joan attempted to slow her breathing. Glancing up again, she saw that the hook her hands were bound to was rusty. Joan realized that with a bit of finagling, she may be able to break the hook from the ceiling.

Gritting her teeth, Joan used her uninjured leg to turn, the hook moving as she began to make a circle. The hook creaked quietly, and Joan prayed that the man didn't hear what she was doing.

She managed to turn about ten times before she heard footsteps. Quickly, Joan returned to her original position, frustrated that the hook seemed to be stubbornly planted to the ceiling.

The man came back in, followed by the two henchmen that had hit the car. Joan glared at the three, ice filling her gaze.

"I will never tell you anything, and I will not scream," Joan told them. The strength behind the statement surprised her, and the men chuckled at her resilience.

"Everyone thinks they will survive but they all eventually give in," the leader reminded her, picking up a bat and handing it to the shorter of the men. "Why should you be any different?" He handed another bat to the taller man.

Calmly, he sat in a rickety chair, looking at Joan. Despite the look in her eyes, the man was delighted to see a look of wariness settled there. "What do you know about my operations?"

Joan set her jaw, closing her eyes as she waited for the first blow.

Her eyes shot open as the bat the smaller man was holding slammed into her stomach. She felt her body shudder yet she still remained silent.

"What do you know?" the man repeated. She didn't answer, and the other man slammed his bat into her broken arm. Still, Joan refused to cry out. "You really are stubborn," the man said, smiling as the smaller man slammed the bat into her knee.

This continued for several long minutes. The three men alternated between questioning and torturing Joan before finally setting the bats down, clearly frustrated. Joan gasped in pain, unable to keep the sound from escaping her lips. She panted, relieved that the questioning had stopped. Her body screamed in pain, yet she still managed to glare at the leader as he stood, facing her.

"Is this the best you've got?" Joan managed to snarl. The leader smiled wickedly, running a dirty finger across her forehead and down her cheek. Joan attempted to jerk her head away as strong fingers gripped her jaw. He squeezed her face before shoving her away, nodding his head for the men to follow him.

Joan allowed her chin to drop, finally letting out a guttural moan. Her body was wracked with pain and she could feel the men getting angrier as she refused to answer their questions. She wasn't sure how much abuse and torture she could take…

An image of Arthur filled her mind, and it was enough for Joan to start slowly turning her body again. She used her right leg to turn her body, the toes of her four inch heels scraping against the ground.

Joan kept turning, swearing that each turn would be the moment that the hook would give way. She could feel the ropes burning her wrists, but that was minor compared to the rest of her body. Joan had no clue what she would do if she managed to get down. She had serious doubts that her leg could bear her weight. And besides, the dim light in the room showed that there was no means of escape outside of the door, which was more than likely locked with one of the men waiting outside.

She stopped when she heard the door opening, dropping her chin to her chest. Joan feigned sleep, hoping that the men would think she was unconscious and leave her be.

Reality overtook hope as a hard slap to the face startled Joan. She jumped slightly, eyes shooting open to meet the gaze of the smaller man. He laughed slightly at her pitiful whimper, holding a granola bar to her lips. "Eat," he ordered, shoving the food into her mouth.

Joan nearly gagged at the sudden motion, but managed to keep her reflexes under control. Instead, she chewed the bar thoroughly, stared at the smaller man, and spit the food back in his face.

"You fucking whore!" he screamed, drawing his hand back and slamming his knuckles across her face. Blood from a clotted wound filled Joan's mouth, overtaking the sweet taste of honey that had lingered. She drew her uninjured leg back and kicked out.

The man batted her leg away before she could connect.

The man buried his fist deep into Joan's stomach. Fingers then wrapped around long blonde strands, yanking Joan's face downwards. "You women should learn not to bite the hand that feeds you," the man hissed.

Before Joan could react, he grabbed the Taser and pressed it to her stomach. She screamed slightly, the sharp pain taking away her breath instantly. Her limbs frozen, Joan dangled helplessly as he pressed the Taser into her stomach several times, each time longer than the last.

_I'm going to die,_ Joan thought. _He's going to kill me. _The sadistic look on his face sent chills down Joan's spine. He was actually enjoying this, not even bothering to try to ask questions of her.

Finally, after the sixth time of voltage being shot through her body, Joan lost her battle with consciousness.

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End Part 3. Reviews are my friend, and the more you review, the faster I post. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for the reviews and follows!

Again, this part contains violence and language.

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_Twelve Years Earlier_

_Location Unknown_

When Joan came to, she was seated in the rickety chair that the leader of the group had sat in previously. She tried to wiggle her fingers and felt her skin contact the bar across the back of the chair, confirming her first thought that she was tied to the bar. Her feet were free, her damaged leg spread in front of her. Joan could see the area had swelled to an alarming size.

Joan slowly lifted her head, the strange tingling still filling her body from the Taser. Her body felt almost detached from itself. Pain from broken bones was intensified and throbbing after being shocked multiple times.

She met the gaze of the leader, who was standing in front of her holding a knife. "Isn't it amazing," he began, "How a piece of metal can do so much damage?" He held the knife up in the dim light, admiring the glint.

Joan gasped for breath, resisting the urge to pull back. She knew she was helpless, but she refused to show fear. He placed the blade against her jaw.

"This is usually the point where the men give up," the leader continued. "I usually run the blade down their skin," he demonstrated with the dull side of the knife, trailing it down her neck and along the exposed flesh of her shoulder. "Then bury it deep in their skin." Joan watched warily as he began to do that, only to stop when a droplet of blood appeared. "But I have other plans for you."

Before Joan could react, the leader cut the front of her thin sweater exposing her bra and stomach. The chill instantly hit her, and the leader smiled wickedly as her body reacted against her will. He ran the tip of the knife against her lacy bra, laughing when Joan tried to pull back. He pulled the knife away, and then picked up a lighter. He ran his fingers along the plastic of the lighter before flicking it on and holding the flame to the blade of the knife.

Joan watched as the flame flickered, the metal turning red after several long moments. She swallowed slightly, fear filling her as he held the knife near her stomach.

"Please, don't," she pleaded.

"Are you going to talk?" he asked, pausing. Joan could feel the heat from the blade just millimeters from her skin.

She whimpered slightly, thoughts of Arthur and Meg running through her mind. _God, I'm sorry, _she thought, forcing the answer out of her lips.

"No."

The single word was followed by a scream as he pressed the long side of the blade to her bare stomach. He held it there several moments before pulling it away. Tears streamed down Joan's face, followed by another scream and another and another as he repeatedly pressed the scorching blade against her skin.

He finally stopped when the heat vanished from the blade, taking a step back as he looked at Joan. A look of frustration covered his face he looked at the woman. He had no idea how she was still remaining silent in regards to the information he needed. Without speaking, he set the knife down. He stared at Joan for several moments as she fought the pain. Tears flowed freely down her face, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead.

"You are stronger than I thought," he finally told her. "I actually respect that. I will break you, though."

All Joan could do was stare at him with hatred in her eyes. She had never been through so much pain in her life. She didn't respond; rather, her eyes nervously followed his hands as he reached for the tray.

_Oh God…no._

The man picked up a whip, running his fingers down the leather curiously. Joan whimpered, unable to control the sound that came out of her throat. She used her foot to push away from him, the rickety chair protesting the movement. The heel of her injured leg dragged pitifully as she tried to get away from the terrorist.

"Don't," Joan cried softly as he took a step towards her. "Please, don't. I…I'll tell you. I'll tell you."

The leader looked at her, slowly unfolding the whip. He stepped closer to Joan, leaning down so that he was in her face. "Will you tell me everything?" he asked softly.

Joan nodded, her heart pounding. "Will you let me go?" she whispered.

"Depends," he teased her. "If you tell me what I want to hear, I will let you live."

Joan stared at him, realizing that he was going to kill her no matter what. They had been torturing her for hours, and she had nothing left to give. She closed her eyes, thinking of Arthur, and the future they wouldn't have.

She was ready to die.

Joan opened her eyes and with a cry, she threw her head back then slammed her forehead into his face. She felt momentarily pleased at his cry of pain, but that was soon taken away as he harshly backhanded her.

She felt blood trickle down her cheek from a cut – whether it was reopened or fresh she didn't care. Joan drew her foot back and kicked out, feeling her heel connect with his knee. He yelled slightly, more out of surprise then actual pain.

"Fucking bastard!" Joan screamed, kicking out again. She missed, breathing heavily at the pain running through her body. She drew back her foot again, weakly kicking out. The simply movements were exhausting her tortured body quickly.

He easily sideswiped her strike, moving behind her. Before Joan could react, he had wrapped the whip around her throat.

He pulled tightly and Joan gagged. The air to her windpipe was cut off quickly and she was unable to do anything about it with her hands bound behind her back. Stars threatened her vision, black edges forming in the corners of her eyes. She leaned her head back, trying to create some slack to get a desperate breath of air. The result was her neck being pulled back even more.

Just when Joan thought she was going to pass out, he released the whip. She gasped for precious air, her windpipe protesting the gulps of air she was trying to suck in. Fingers wrapped around her long hair and yanked back.

Joan cried slightly as her head connected with the back of the chair, her neck once again being pulled backwards. The man took his elbow and slammed it into her face, effectively and undeniably breaking her nose. Blood flowed quickly and she struggled to keep the blood from running into her mouth. Air was more important, she concluded, and parted her lips. Joan drew in a ragged breath, nearly choking on the blood pooling in the back of her throat.

He brought his face close to hers and whispered harshly, "You try something like that again, and I don't care about any information. I will kill you. Got it?" When Joan didn't answer, he pulled down on her hair. "Got it?!"

"Yes, yes!" Joan gasped out. Tiny drops of blood appeared on his cheek at her answer.

He finally let go of her hair, shaking loose strands out of his fingers disgustedly. He threw the whip behind him, making his way to the door. Stopping, he glanced at her. Smirking, he drew back his booted foot and connected the steel of the toes into her injured knee. She cried out, blood trailing down her chin and dripping onto her chest.

Joan panted, trying to keep the hysterical screams down as he walked out the door and slammed it behind him. _I'm going to die here,_ she realized. _I'm never going to see Arthur or Meg or my family again._ A renowned sense of panic filled her, and using her uninjured leg, she began rocking the chair back and forth, attempting to tip it over.

It was weak enough that she hoped that she would be able to break the chair when she fell, though Joan had no idea what she would do if the chair did break. Her hands would still be bound behind her back, but she had to try.

For the first time that day, luck was on her side. Joan felt the chair tip, and as she landed with a thud, she could feel her bounded hands loosen among the splintered wood as the chair shattered.

Her hands were free.

Joan struggled to push the ropes away, pins and needles flooding her hands as the flow of blood reached them. She ignored the pain, using her right hand to push herself into a sitting position. She used the tray to try to pull herself into a standing position, her fingers touching the edge of the gun.

The door flew open at the commotion, the tallest man of the trio entering the room to see what the noise was. His eyes widened when he realized Joan was no longer bound to the chair. Before Joan could wrap her fingers around the gun, the man slammed into her, hard, sending the weapons flying in different directions as Joan collided with the tray.

Adrenaline ran through Joan's veins as she pulled herself up, ignoring the pain in her knee. She knew that the chances of winning a hand to hand combat were slim when she was on the ground. She ignored the nagging voice in the back of her head telling her she didn't stand a chance of winning at all.

The man had been thrown off balance and was struggling to get to his feet. Joan realized that when he had collided with her, he had injured his ankle. Somehow, Joan's hand found a baseball bat, and Joan wrapped her hand around the wood as she forced herself to her feet. Thanking years of softball playing briefly, she swung the bat as hard as she could with her right hand.

To say the man was shocked at the pain was an understatement. He instantly doubled over as the bat struck his stomach, but Joan didn't stop. She swung again, hitting the man in the leg. He went down to a knee, and she swung again, nailing him in the head. Joan didn't stop, even as she heard the sickening crack of his skull, and he stilled.

Finally, she dropped the bat, wild eyes searching for the gun. She instantly regretted her action when the smaller man charged into the room. Joan stooped slightly, reaching for the bat, only to have the breath whoosh out of her when the man slammed against her. He tackled her to the ground, his knees pinning her body to the floor.

His fist sank deeply into her stomach. As his hand hit her burns from the knife and Taser, Joan seemed to snap out of her stupor. She slammed her forehead into his nose, a look of surprise coming over his face. She swung her uninjured knee up, hitting the man in the groin. Surprise turned to pain, and she shoved him, reaching out blindly.

Her hand wrapped around a knife, and before he could react, Joan swung the knife. She had no clue where the knife hit, and she drew back, stabbing out again and again. The man struggled slightly, before he fell backwards, lifeless.

Joan gasped in pain, forcing herself to her feet one more time. This time, she reached the gun, picking it up and crying a short sob of relief as she checked it.

Fully loaded.

Whimpering, Joan hobbled heavily to the door. She was not shocked to see the leader making his way down the hall. Joan laughed when she saw the look on his face, the sound from her throat nearly hysterical.

"You fucking coward," Joan forced out, swinging the gun toward him with her right hand. Her left arm dangled uselessly next to her. The man smiled despite the situation, taking a step towards Joan. "Don't move!" she screamed hoarsely, removing the safety from the gun.

"You really were a worthy opponent," the man said. "I'm almost sad that it will end like this."

A look of surprise and anger filled him when Joan pulled the trigger, the bullet burying itself deep in the wall behind him. "What the hell!" he cried, taking a dangerous step towards Joan.

"Don't move!" Joan repeated, taking a wobbly step backwards. Adrenaline kept her on her feet, despite the pain in her knee.

He laughed slightly, walking towards Joan. Her hand shook as she held the gun, making Joan think that her chances of hitting him were narrow. "You don't have the guts to kill me."

Joan pulled the trigger again, the bullet this time grazing his shoulder. "You goddamned whore!" he yelled, wrapping his hand around his shoulder. "You will pay for that!"

"How?" Joan asked, her voice raspy. "You've already tortured me, broken bones, burned me…what more could you do?"

His gaze locked on the ring around her finger. Realizing what he was looking at, Joan shifted uncomfortably. Usually she left her rings at home when on operation, but this time she had kept the diamond on. The leader smirked slightly, not answering her question.

"Someone loves you very much," he said to Joan. She didn't answer, narrowing her eyes and gripping the gun tighter. "I wonder what would happen if you came back…shall we say, deflowered?"

Joan's eyes widened, and without a second thought, a suddenly steady hand pulled the trigger. The leader looked confused for a second then his expression went blank as Joan pulled the trigger again. He collapsed to the ground. Joan slowly limped over, nudging him with her foot. He didn't move. His eyes stared up at her, lifeless. There was no doubt in her mind that he was dead.

Still, that didn't stop her from aiming the gun at him again.

With a ragged scream, she pulled the trigger. Joan shot him repeatedly until the clip was empty. Even after the bullets stopped striking his body, she still pulled the trigger. The clicking seemed to echo loudly in the room as blood rushed to her head.

Gasping with exhaustion and pain, she cried out, sinking to the ground. The gun tumbled out of her hand, the deadly weapon falling beside her.

Her body was shaking, and Joan knew that she was going into shock. "No, no, no, no, no, no," she whispered. "No, I'm not going to die here."

Forcing herself to her feet, Joan made her way the door. Anxiously she pushed it open and stumbled out of the house. The cold stung her body, and she used shaking fingers of her uninjured arm to pull her sweater closed. Her body ached, her shoes gone from the fight she had just gone through. However, the idea of getting to see Arthur again made her move.

Joan had no clue how far she walked. All she knew was that as she made her way to a road, her legs finally gave out on her. Her head, knee, arm, and ribs throbbed violently. As her vision swam and Joan finally laid her cheek to the pavement, she whispered into the cold ground.

"I love you, Arthur."

The last thing she was aware of was the sound of a car engine coming closer.

~/~

End Part 4


	5. Chapter 5

So, this was story was originally going to be 6 parts, but I wanted to throw some more Arthur/Joan in there. Plus, I've been bored today after our second snow day from work, so…yeah. It will be 7 parts in total. This is the last chapter told as a "flashback." Next chapter will return to reality. I hope that I captured the emotion that I was trying to convey. Enjoy, and please read and review. Makes my day!

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_Twelve Years Earlier_

_Kantonsspital, __Männedorf_

_I have to be dead. _

That was the first thing that ran through Joan's head.

She had to be dead, laying on the side of the road somewhere in Switzerland. Someone would find her eventually, and figure out who she was before she was sent home.

There was no way that after the hell she had been put through, Joan Mackenzie was alive. She felt warm and safe. Gone were the rough hands and painful blows. The padding underneath her back was fairly soft…not quite as comfortable as her bed at home, but it would do. Limbs and ribs throbbed, but it was tolerable.

_How can I be in pain if I'm dead?_ Joan wondered. She groaned slightly, moving the fingers on her right hand slightly. It appeared to be the only part of her body that didn't hurt. There was a heavy weight on her left wrist as well as her left knee. Her ribs felt constricted, a strong binding pressed against her skin. And her head…oh God, her head…

"Joanie!"

The whispered word sounded familiar, and in reality there was only one person who could get away with that nickname.

Joan forced an eye open, meeting the youthful and shocked gaze of Meg Wilkins. "Oh my God, Joanie!" she cried. "You're awake!"

Joan couldn't respond in the way that she wanted, instead rolling her head toward Meg. "I…hurts…" Joan managed, deciding that the pain in her body wasn't as tolerable as she originally thought. She closed her eyes in an attempt to fight off the pounding in her head. "Arthur?" she asked, hoping that Meg understood what she was saying.

And she did.

"He's here, Joanie," Meg replied. "We've been taking shifts to stay with you." Reaching over, Meg pressed the call button, summoning a nurse. It only took moments for the nurse to arrive, and she immediately called for a doctor.

The next several minutes were long and involved poking, prodding, blood pressure, temperature, giving her a small sip of water, and Lord knew what else. Joan felt the annoyance rising, until finally the doctor and nurses that had converged stepped back.

Joan met Arthur's gaze from the doorway, tears shimmering in his blue eyes. "My God, honey," he managed, stepping toward the bed. The doctor and nurses all quietly left, leaving the trio. "Thank you, Jesus," Arthur whispered, sitting in the chair next to Joan that Meg had been occupying. "Thank you."

Sensing that the two of them needed to be left alone, Meg smiled at her friend. "Joanie, I need to go to the bathroom. I'll be back soon," she promised.

Joan nodded, a tear trickling down her cheek as Arthur took her right hand in his. He tenderly stroked her skin, being careful to avoid the IV that stuck out of her hand.

"Arthur," she finally whispered. Her voice was gravelly from lack of use and the bruising instilled by the whip. "Am I…are they…" She couldn't get the words out, as her thoughts were overwhelming. She whimpered slightly, clearly frustrated.

"Shh…" Arthur soothed. "You're safe. You're going to be okay. It's going to take some time, but you will be fine. They can't hurt you anymore."

"It hurts," she admitted. Joan lifted her hand up, seeing the thick white plaster encasing her wrist. She looked at it in wonder before lifting her head, seeing her knee wrapped in a heavy brace to immobilize it. She dropped her head back, sniffling. "It hurts so much, Arthur." Her casted hand lolled listlessly against her stomach.

Arthur felt his heart break at this admittance. He knew she was in severe pain, but the fact she voiced it terrified him. He didn't answer; rather he pressed his lips to her hand.

"How did…how did I get here?" Joan asked. "I thought I was going to die."

Arthur sniffled slightly, unable to stop the tear that ran down his cheek. "Good Samaritan found you. They brought you to the hospital. We had Intel on the hospitals to let us know if a blonde Jane Doe was brought in. We got the call and came immediately," he told Joan quietly. He pressed another kiss to her hand. "I couldn't believe it was actually you."

Joan stared at him for a long moment, then replied, "I thought that I would never see you again. I think that motivated me to…to hang in there." She closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. "They broke me, Arthur. I almost considered giving up the information. I almost put you at risk!"

"You didn't, and you survived, Joan," Arthur replied softly. "That's all that matters. It will take time, but you will be okay. We will get through this."

Joan laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "How can you still want to marry me?" she asked emotionally. Tears freely streamed down her cheeks now. "I'm a coward!"

"No, Joan," Arthur said, using his free hand to wipe away her tears. "You are not. You are the bravest woman I've ever met." He brushed her bangs from her forehead tenderly.

"I hope that I can believe you one day," Joan whispered. "I just want to go home."

"We will, Joan. We will." Seeing exhaustion and pain on her features, Arthur subtly moved his thumb to press the morphine drip that the nurse had placed in her hand. "Just rest, honey," he said softly. He moved his hand back, the rough pad of his thumb stroking her cheek. He was careful to avoid the thin line of stitches there.

"I don't want to," Joan answered. "What if they come back?" The question was filled with panic. "Oh, God! They are going to get me!"

"They won't, sweetheart. You killed them," Arthur told her patiently.

"How can you be sure?" Joan asked. Everything leading up to this moment was confusing. She remembered the pain and torture and fighting, but Joan was had been so detached from reality at that point that she wasn't sure if she had actually killed the men.

"A team retraced your steps and found where you were…kept," Arthur replied. "The two men you and Meg were sent to eliminate and our unknown terrorist were all dead." He didn't mention that they had found the instruments they had used to torture her, as well as the blood covered rope she had been bound with. "They can't hurt you anymore," he reassured her.

Joan's eyes drooped, the morphine quickly kicking in. Arthur watched as she tried to fight the sleep, but the medication and exhaustion won the battle.

Arthur sighed softly, surprised when the sound turned into a slight sob. Sniffing, he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the white blanket covering Joan. Tears leaked out of his closed eyes, guilt and anger overpowering his brain.

"Why?" he asked softly, the word muffled against the blanket. "Dear God, why her?" Arthur allowed his tears to fall, emotion and anger for the woman he loved finally reaching the breaking point.

He cried for several long minutes, relieved that nurses and Meg had let him be. Arthur lifted his head, looking at his fiancé. His hand trailed over her stomach, a ghost of a touch feeling the heavy wrap surrounding her ribs. He knew that underneath were more bandages covering her burns. He moved his hand to her head, brushing back a dirty strand of blonde hair. Joan had not yet been bathed, the effects of her ordeal and stay in the hospital showing on her normally flawless blonde mane.

Arthur trailed his thumb along the healing bruise under her eye, laughing slightly. He was glad that there wasn't a mirror near Joan. He briefly recalled the time that Meg had accidentally given her a black eye while they were sparring in a workout. Joan had freaked out, mostly because her cover for the next day involved her being a high roller at an expensive dinner party. He remembered the hour Joan had spent that night trying to cover the accident up.

Sighing, Arthur felt the smile leave his face. This was totally different, though. He knew that the physical and emotional toll of what Joan had gone through would linger way beyond the bruises, broken bones, and scars. He only hoped that Joan would allow him to be there for her.

Taking in the braces, casts, cuts, bruises, and burns, Arthur let out a deep breath. The tortured look on Joan's face, even in rest, told the story.

It was going to be a long road to recovery.

~/~

End Part 5


	6. Chapter 6

Here is part 6. I think I tied up all loose ends. If there is anything I forgot, let me know and I will address it in the final chapter, which will be all Joan/Arthur.

Thank you for your support! Even if you aren't reviewing, the fact people are reading is awesome.

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_Present Day_

_Somewhere over North Carolina_

The silence in the cabin was deafening.

One woman sat quietly, staring out the window. She was lost in her own thoughts, the telling of an ordeal twelve years prior clearly taking a toll on her. The other woman watched her boss – her _mentor_ – worriedly.

Joan finally looked at Annie, seemingly seeing the sadness in the younger woman's eyes for the first time since she had started the tale. Joan knew that Annie had heard that she was an amazing agent, but Annie clearly had no idea what the older woman had been through.

"I, uh…" Joan cleared her throat, sticking her hand back in the ice. "In the end, I suffered a serious concussion, dehydration, burns to my skin from the knife and ropes, a broken nose, multiple broken ribs, a broken left ulna and radius, and a torn meniscus, and a fractured patella. That's not including the multitude of bruises and cuts and a bruised windpipe. Shockingly, the only stitches I needed were to close up the cut on my cheek. When I first came in, doctors didn't think that I would survive," she added. "I was severely beaten and incoherent. I don't remember anything between collapsing on the side of the road and waking up. I found out later that they had to put me in a medically induced coma for four days because I kept trying to fight off the doctors. "

"In all, I spent nearly three weeks in the hospital before they released me, and that is only because I threatened to leave AMA. I was so relieved to get out of there and vowed to never go back to Switzerland. Once I was home, I started physical therapy. There had been significant damage to my knee. It was long and painful, and very difficult to maneuver. I mean, I had my arm in a cast, and a full length brace on my knee, not to mention heavily bandaged ribs. It took several months for me to walk without a crutch or cane. Doctors didn't think that I would ever walk normally again, much less in heels."

"And you proved them wrong, too," Annie said with a small smile. Joan's shoe collection rivaled her own, as Annie knew the older woman held a penchant for Jimmy Choo.

Joan returned a ghost of a smile, bringing her hand out of the ice. She examined her swollen knuckles before gingerly setting her hand down on a dry towel. "My goal was to walk down the aisle to marry Arthur, without crutches, braces or casts," she told Annie. "I did within five months, and we got married shortly thereafter. Believe it or not, it was a small ceremony: just our parents, sisters, and closest friends."

"Did your parents know what had happened?" Annie asked.

Joan sighed, leaning back. Her finger absently traced the wineglass, the liquid inside having turned warm a long time ago. "My family…much like your sister, does not know I am in the CIA. I told them that I was on vacation in Switzerland and had a skiing accident. My injuries, with the exception of the knife burns and bruising from the whip and rope, were consistent with that story. I was able to hide it well. Scarves, baggy sweatshirts, the works…my mom tried to help me rewrap my ribs at one point and I sort of freaked out on her. Arthur was the only person I allowed to touch me. He was the only one that I trusted."

Joan continued, "I spent several years in counseling after Switzerland, too. It took me awhile to accept what had happened, and to know that the men who tortured me could never hurt me again. I still see my counselor once in a while. She has proven to be an amazing friend."

"When I was finally up to it, the CIA gave me several awards for taking out the up and coming terrorist cell. That seemed to be the final chapter of what I went through, but I didn't know what I wanted to do after that. I seriously came close to quitting the agency. I didn't think that I was good enough to be an agent anymore. The beating those three men instilled on me…I was resigned. They broke me. So I figured: what good would I be? One night, I typed out a resignation letter, and had it addressed and stamped. Arthur convinced me not to hand it in, though."

"The head of the DPD at the time wanted me to stay in the CIA, but obviously I couldn't return to the field. I was too much of a risk, mentally and physically. My knee is better, but I still have some issues with it. I'm actually surprised that I was able to fight off those assassins today," Joan smiled. "Meg and Lena remained in the field. A year and a half after the incident, I ended up working at Langley, helping to oversee operations at first. Arthur became the head of the DPD, and then quickly catapulted to the role of DCS. "

"I applied for the head of the DPD, but didn't get it at first. It wasn't until three years ago that I got the job. I also got the title of Ice Queen for my…shall we say, 'take no shit' attitude. It took a while for the whispers about what happened to me to stop, though I still get gazes from senior operatives sometimes." She glanced at Annie, then added, "Sometimes when we get new blood in, it's a relief to not get that curious stare when someone finds out who I am."

Annie shook her head, drawing a slow breath out. "Joan, God…I'm sorry."

Joan smiled sadly, looking at her young operative. "Don't be. Like I said, it's in the past, and not something I talk about often. I went through a very dark time after that, filled with nightmares, pain killer addiction, and PTSD. Somehow, the aftermath proved to be more trying than the actual experience."

"The bones healed, my meniscus was eventually repaired, and the scars have faded for the most part." Joan's fingers trailed over her stomach briefly, whether it was for the soreness presently settled there or the scars that Annie now knew were there, the younger woman wasn't sure. "However…I was damaged. I spent a long time fearing strangers, and did not even want to leave the house at one point. I thought that everyone was working with those three men. I even had a nightmare that Arthur was one of them, and that he was going to hurt me. I think that was the worst part. He had been there for me, and all of a sudden I didn't want to trust him. Everyone, including the one that I loved, was the enemy."

Joan cleared her throat slightly, once again flexing her hand. The stiffness that had settled there was more of an annoyance than anything. "When I saw Meg's name on that file, I immediately thought back to Switzerland. I always wondered what would have happened if we hadn't split up, or if Meg would have been caught instead of me. She was there for me, and continued to be there. This was my chance for redemption," Joan said quietly. 

"I would…" she trailed off, sighing softly. "I would appreciate it if you keep this to yourself. Not many people within the CIA know the whole story…including Auggie."

Annie nodded, blinking slightly. She had never expected at the beginning of this operation she would have learned so much about her boss.

Now she was seeing Joan Campbell in a whole new light.

~/~

End Part 6


	7. Chapter 7

Hi all! Here is the final part of this story. I appreciate those of you who read, and those of you who took the time to review. It means the world to me. Enjoy some ArJo!

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_Present Day_

_The Campbell Residence _

"Arthur!" Joan called eagerly as she opened the door.

"I won't apologize for sending Ben Mercer!" The response was quick, and Joan couldn't help the smile that played at her lips as her husband came into the front hall. The small smile turned into a grin as he rambled off an apology for going behind her back and how he just wanted her to stay safe. It tickled her that he didn't even try to hide the speech that he wrote. Joan finally cut him off with a shake her head, pressing her lips to his for a long moment.

She pulled away, seeing the confusion in his face. Joan smirked, knowing that he expected her to be angry about going behind her back. A display of affection was the last thing he thought he would be greeted with. Joan pressed her lips to his again briefly.

"I love you Arthur," Joan breathed against his lips. She rested her forehead against his for several long moments. "So much," she added. Pulling away from him, Joan met his softened gaze and looked into the dining room, where an impressive dinner was spread out on the table.

"You cooked dinner?" Joan asked, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"Delivery," Arthur admitted. "But I tipped the delivery boy very well!" he added.

Joan laughed heartily, leaning back against her husband as his hands snaked around her waist. He rested his chin on her shoulder. "I'm glad you're home," Arthur told Joan, kissing her neck. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Joan answered, leaning her head back so she could turn and look him in the eye.

"When that camera went out…I was scared," Arthur admitted. "The only other time I was that scared was…" he trailed off, knowing that he was going into dangerous waters.

"Switzerland," Joan finished, meeting his gaze.

Arthur blinked, quickly covering his surprise. It wasn't a word she spoke often. The scars from that mission burned deeper than the marks on her stomach. Joan turned, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head against Arthur's chest.

"I told Annie about Switzerland," Joan said quietly. Arthur managed to keep his surprise in check once again. "I told her the whole story: from the car accident to the hospital to the aftermath. The…injuries and torture and the escape…I told her everything, Arthur. I trusted her and I opened up."

Arthur smiled slightly into Joan's hair. "That's a good thing, honey," Arthur soothed. "Your counselor said that it's important to talk about it. It helps you heal."

"It was painful to talk," Joan admitted. "And the memories hurt more than I thought. But it helped."

Arthur wrapped his arms around Joan's waist, pulling his wife close to him. He didn't miss the grimace that crossed her face. "Joan?" he questioned, concern covering his gaze.

"Meg and I had to fight off five assassins," Joan told Arthur, unable to keep the proud note out of her voice. "One kicked me in the ribs." Arthur's hand immediately dropped to her flat stomach, gazing at her through concerned eyes. He finally saw the faint finger marks around her throat, as well as the bruise under her eye that was evident despite makeup.

"Oh, Joan," Arthur said softly, pulling her to him and holding her as tightly as he dared. "Are you okay?"

"I think I'm fine, Arthur," Joan chuckled. "I could just go for a nice meal, a hot bath, and a heating pad."

"I think that I can take care of that," Arthur answered, guiding her to the table. "Any other injuries I need to know about?"

Joan quietly held her hand up, showing him her bruised knuckles. Arthur carefully took her hand in his, looking at the limb before pressing his lips carefully to the skin. Joan remembered how he did the same thing so many years ago. "I don't think anything is broken," Arthur told her. "But we should get it x-rayed just in case."

"Tomorrow," Joan responded firmly. "Right now, I just want to enjoy being home." She could tell that Arthur wanted to argue, but the single raised eyebrow was enough to silence him…at least temporarily.

"Then come on," Arthur said, placing a hand on her back to guide her to the dinner table. "Let's eat."

~/~

An hour later, Joan stood in the shower, enjoying the feel of the warm water massaging her body. Now that the adrenaline of the trip had worn off, Joan could feel the soreness settling in her body. Her ribs and hand ached pretty badly. Joan was incredibly grateful for the Advil that Arthur had gotten for her, knowing that the pills would help to offset some of the stiffness in the morning. Of course, she wished for something stronger, but that was a Joan Campbell of the past.

With a sigh, she finally shut off the water, reaching out to grab a fluffy towel. Joan quickly dried off, gooseflesh popping up on her skin despite the steam in the bathroom. She ran a comb through her long blonde hair, allowing the damp strands to settle against her shoulders.

A protective hand against her ribs, she grabbed her underwear and carefully pulled it on, followed by her blue and green sleep boxers. Joan picked up her favorite Penn State shirt, hesitating.

Walking over to the full length mirror, she used her hand to wipe away the condensation. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Joan frowned slightly.

She gently touched the scarred skin underneath her breasts and her along her torso, remembering the feel of the hot knife as it was pressed into her skin. That was probably the worst pain she had ever experienced, with the exception of the surgery and PT that had followed Switzerland. Luckily, over time, the scars had faded to just a slight puckering of her fair skin. Arthur, God bless him, never mentioned them when she finally allowed him to take off her shirt when they were making love.

Joan ghosted her fingertips over the fresh bruises on her stomach. She was relieved to see that no bones seemed to be protruding out of her skin, indicating that there were no broken ribs.

With another heavy sigh, Joan tugged the dark blue shirt over her head, hiding the skin and scars along her belly. Her eye was swollen already, a spectacular shade of purple already. Angry black and blue marks lined her delicate throat. _Scarves and a good make up job will be needed when I go back to the office, _Joan thought to herself. Luckily, she had plenty of practice throughout her career.

Opening the bathroom door, she padded into the bedroom, instantly making her way to the bed and snuggling underneath the heavy comforter. A contented sound came from deep in her throat.

Arthur watched her, amused, over the top of his reading glasses. He wasn't surprised when Joan quickly sidled up to him, wrapping her arm across his stomach and resting her head against his shoulder. She smiled at him tiredly.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked her. He could see the toll that the long trip had taken on his wife. Her black eye looked ten times worse than when she had arrived home now that her makeup had been washed away. He brushed his thumb across the bruised area carefully.

"Sore," Joan admitted, swatting his hand away from the sensitive skin. "It's been awhile since I've gotten that physical."

"You don't have Meg as a sparring partner anymore," Arthur told her, the teasing in his tone evident to his wife. Joan and Meg's friendship was clear to everyone that they ran into at Langley, but their sparing matches were legendary. Friendship overrode the fighting, but there were many times where other operatives saw the two with gloves on and would stop to see who won. In the end, they were fairly even in wins and losses.

Joan snickered as she replied, "I think Meg and I did more damage to each other than any terrorists ever did."

The unspoken statement about Switzerland being the exception hung over them awkwardly. "You look tired," Arthur finally said. It was probably the most obvious thing he could have said, but it did the trick. Joan flicked her gaze towards her husband.

"I forgot how exhausting the field can be," Joan admitted quietly after a few moments. "Mentally and physically."

Arthur set his book down and reached over to shut off his reading lamp. He shifted carefully so that he could wrap his arms around his wife. He pressed his lips to her forehead before speaking. "Did you miss it?" Seeing the confusion in the dim moonlit room, he elaborated, "The field?"

Joan thought before carefully working her response. "I didn't really miss it, per say. That surprised me more than anything. I thought it would have been like riding a bike, but the entire time I was very…apprehensive of going to Mexico and even going in the building was tough. I didn't like the fear I felt, and having Annie and Ben there made it worse." Seeing Arthur expected her to be angry about Ben, she clarified, "Not that I was upset they were there…I was afraid that I would have an anxiety attack in front of them."

"Why did you go then?" Arthur asked. "Why put yourself through that?"

"For Meg," Joan admitted. "She was there for me after Switzerland, and I owed her. I may be twelve years late, but…she was there." Blinking, blue eyes rose to meet blue eyes. "And so were you."

Arthur chuckled softly, holding Joan as carefully as he dared. "Where else would I have been?" he asked.

Joan didn't answer; rather, she lifted her head to press her lips to his briefly. "I love you, Arthur," she whispered.

"And I love you," Arthur replied. Seeing the exhaustion in her features, he kissed her one last time. "Sleep, sweetheart. I think you've been up over twenty-four hours now. You're tired."

Joan nodded, closing her eyes. She was asleep within moments, the first deep sleep she had in years.

She finally felt safe.

~/~

End part 7 of 7. Thanks to everyone who has read! I'm thinking of doing a couple Joan/Arthur one shots over my winter break. We will see what comes to my mind. If you have a suggestion or idea, please let me know. I like writing angsty, dramatic romance. :)


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